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The Trefrog posted this pic over in his Flickr group.
That's me and a friend at the Green Mill, listening to late night jazz after "Sickest Stories" last month.
Nice.
Cheers,
Mr.B
Showing posts with label Drunk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drunk. Show all posts
Thursday, August 28, 2008
The Nuzzle
The Trefrog posted this pic over in his Flickr group.
That's me and a friend at the Green Mill, listening to late night jazz after "Sickest Stories" last month.
Nice.
Cheers,
Mr.B
Monday, July 14, 2008
Our Last Date.
Tonight, I ...
...paid for everything. You didn't notice, but I did.
...suggested that we leave the bar and drink at the closed, private bar. Which we did.
...ditched the fratboy who was hitting on the blonde. I left him barfing in the greenery with a glass of water when he was done depositing 10 hours of margaritas in the foliage.
...encouraged you and the blonde to kiss.
...took pictures of you and the blonde kissing.
...sent pictures of the blonde and you kissing to Steve from Alabama. Steve from Alabama sent me the video of you and the blonde kissing.
...apologized to the manager, after he found the pitcher you'd hidden in your bag. I returned it, apologizing for my drunken friends and then walked away, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
...poured proper drinks at the bar, including three shots for myself while everyone else was rolling on the floor. I drank alone.
...mopped up the spilled beer when you were straddling my friend on the floor.
...grabbed your forearms and pulled you close to me for our first kiss, because you were too drunk to do it. I doubt you will remember it.
...found an ATM for the blonde, hailed her a cab and sent her home, while you laid groaning on the floor.
...found another cab for you and me and my friend. Got us all home. Paid for the whole trip. Absolutely uncertain that my new ATM card would get us all home. Again, you had no idea.
...gave you a goodbye kiss when you left the cab to enter your apartment building.
You didn't know it then and you won't know it for a while yet, but that was the kiss goodbye. That was the last time that we'll ever go out again.
I don't mind the drunken shenanigans. I don't mind you rolling around on the floor and making out with every girl there. I don't mind the screaming and the singing and inviting the blonde over to our table from nowhere. I just can't forgive you for not including me in all of that. For ignoring me as much as you did.
I suppose that's what I get for dating an actress... again.
Lesson learned.
Tonight, after everyone else piled out of my cab and I raced home, north on Western Ave, over the viaduct, allowing my open-palmed hand to surf on the currents of the wind, I never felt more powerfully, profoundly alive than I did, at that moment. Is it any coincidence that I had to be alone, before I finally realized how alive I was?
Goodnight, moon.
Cheers,
Mr.B
UPDATE: A more considered, reasonable perspective on this date is included in the comments below. It's fair to say that I was pretty drunk and a little upset, when I wrote this blog entry. A day later, totally sober, and the date looked like shenanigans, but not that big a deal, actually.
...paid for everything. You didn't notice, but I did.
...suggested that we leave the bar and drink at the closed, private bar. Which we did.
...ditched the fratboy who was hitting on the blonde. I left him barfing in the greenery with a glass of water when he was done depositing 10 hours of margaritas in the foliage.
...encouraged you and the blonde to kiss.
...took pictures of you and the blonde kissing.
...sent pictures of the blonde and you kissing to Steve from Alabama. Steve from Alabama sent me the video of you and the blonde kissing.
...apologized to the manager, after he found the pitcher you'd hidden in your bag. I returned it, apologizing for my drunken friends and then walked away, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
...poured proper drinks at the bar, including three shots for myself while everyone else was rolling on the floor. I drank alone.
...mopped up the spilled beer when you were straddling my friend on the floor.
...grabbed your forearms and pulled you close to me for our first kiss, because you were too drunk to do it. I doubt you will remember it.
...found an ATM for the blonde, hailed her a cab and sent her home, while you laid groaning on the floor.
...found another cab for you and me and my friend. Got us all home. Paid for the whole trip. Absolutely uncertain that my new ATM card would get us all home. Again, you had no idea.
...gave you a goodbye kiss when you left the cab to enter your apartment building.
You didn't know it then and you won't know it for a while yet, but that was the kiss goodbye. That was the last time that we'll ever go out again.
I don't mind the drunken shenanigans. I don't mind you rolling around on the floor and making out with every girl there. I don't mind the screaming and the singing and inviting the blonde over to our table from nowhere. I just can't forgive you for not including me in all of that. For ignoring me as much as you did.
I suppose that's what I get for dating an actress... again.
Lesson learned.
Tonight, after everyone else piled out of my cab and I raced home, north on Western Ave, over the viaduct, allowing my open-palmed hand to surf on the currents of the wind, I never felt more powerfully, profoundly alive than I did, at that moment. Is it any coincidence that I had to be alone, before I finally realized how alive I was?
Goodnight, moon.
Cheers,
Mr.B
UPDATE: A more considered, reasonable perspective on this date is included in the comments below. It's fair to say that I was pretty drunk and a little upset, when I wrote this blog entry. A day later, totally sober, and the date looked like shenanigans, but not that big a deal, actually.
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